


The Sandwoman

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Post-ACOWAR, Post-Canon, Smut, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 12:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: Elain has lived in the fever dreams of the future for too long; Tonight, she summons those who dote on her and makes her visions of the future fall into place.______________________________________Post-ACOWAR





	The Sandwoman

Everyone has always thought Elain stupid. Even people who have never met her, who think she is no more complex or thoughtful than a child’s finger painting. She’s been keenly aware of this fact, but smiled through it and tried to stay true to herself her whole life.

The Cauldron saw through those smiles, those girlish wiles. Saw through the delicate fabric she wove around her skin to protect herself from the horrors that crept to her door at night and threw her family into turmoil time and time again. Pretending everything was okay had always been easier; she did not know if it made her strong or weak. All she knew was it made people underestimate her, think her stupid.

No longer.

Now, they are all forced to see, just as she has been. The visions that plague her cannot be shifted, ignored, shaken. She must see all that is to come, all that is, and sometimes, in the middle of the night amongst horrific terrors, all that has been. Her mind offers her little comfort nowadays - Where she was once shy, now she finds comfort in skin. In soft flesh, warm bones, tender hearts.

And in amongst the dreaming shadows of the Night Court, two hearts are more tender and splendid than them all.

She does not fear as she has Nuala deliver her invitations to their door. Four years after Hybern, she is confident in her powers, can will them to shape and slink and charge as she orders them to. She knows they will come. Knows they will debate and pace their separate rooms and worry, but no matter where their minds lead them, they will always come back to her.

She smiles as she thinks upon it. Slithers down her bedsheets, waiting. Closes her eyes. Slips down a hand, squeezing between her thighs. Her boys. Her sweet, sweet boys. Both of the race she once detested, both of the blood her lost fiance despised. Yet seeing, truly seeing, has granted her the gift of freedom from fear. She knows they will not harm her; knows they will do things far, far more dangerous. They shall bewitch her.

And amongst the horrors of the past and the tentativeness of the future, she could do with a little magic. A little witchcraft never hurt anybody.

Smiling contentedly, she lets her gift sweep up her mind in its invisible arms and dance across time into the future. It comes easily now, like skipping through the pages of a book, flipping through snippets of moments until she locates her favourite. Pausing, she lives and relives through what is soon to come. The sensation of Azriel’s wings brushing her thigh. The hot, shaking breath Lucien shall pant against her shoulder. The way both their cocks feel as they take her, over and over against the gentle plume of the mattress.

They have no wingspan to compare, but that does not mean they won’t compete.

For she sees more than all others there too. Sees the way Azriel regards the High Fae Fox, how he studies the sharp angles of his hips and waist and face, how he watches him glide across rooms and lose himself in books and maps. And it is impossible not to notice how Lucien stares at those shadows, follows them with his eyes as they retreat across the floorboards and slink slender up those thighs. In the night, in dreams, she can sense their slumbering notions and knows they dream not just of her plush flesh, but of each other, of their trio coming together in congress of lust and love and uncertainty. And those dreams alone have seduced her. The men themselves, they shall have to prove their worth in the bedroom.

And thus, she waits. Her fingers circle her clit, push and rub and quicken to bring her breathing to the brink of hyperventilation, for she gasps and cries out in ecstasy in all that she has foreseen. Before, she thought knowing the end result of romance would taint it to vulgarity, sour it into boredom. Yet now she knows how naive she was, for the excitement of what is to come only drives her further, urges her to seek out the promise woven into those fantasies.

If it feels so good in dreams and visions, imagine how it shall elate in the flesh.

“Come in,” she gasps, just as two men are about to knock upon her door. They stumble at being interrupted, but are growing used to her capabilities now. She cannot blame them, not really; When they first met her, she was a mess, lost within the sprawling chaos of her newfound powers. Now, she is always two steps ahead, spry and light and eager where she once was buried in the mud. To her delight, they find her newfound liberation enchanting. She would banish them completely if they reacted any other way.

“Elain?” Lucien asks tentatively, for he pushes open the door to the sound of her moaning furiously. His skin flushes to match his hair as he spots her. Azriel slides through the shadows of the door, and materialises at her beside, lingering against the walls. He is frozen and fixated upon her, feeding upon the mere sight of her fucking herself with her fingers. They both swallow. As she knew they would.

Before they can so much as touch her, she comes, sucking in air and sighing in bliss. How beautiful those visions were. She could last the night on that alone, if she did not know they spoke of what was to come so soon, so tantalisingly close.

She is fed up of waiting. Of examining every possible outcome to make sure inviting them here today was not a mistake. And now, she is sure, of herself, and of them.

With one delicate, shy finger - still slicked in her own cum - she beckons them closer. “Come join me,” she instructs softly. “And see if you can do better than my fingers.”

Though she has shown them often how powerful she has become, never before has she been open about her awakened sexuality. About how her fae blood has driven her from hesitancy to yearning. About how every night her cunt wets and clenches in desperation for release from these new raging hormones. She has examined her candidates, studied and evaluated them. Here stand the chosen. “Come prove yourselves to me.”

She tugs the invisible leash; they come to heel. Crawling upon the bedsheets, they creep to her and gather her in their arms, their lips, their teeth. The King of Shadows slips between her legs to kiss and lick her ass, whilst above him the Fox tilts her hips and rubs his hardening cock against her clit. The blood rushes to her groin, swells within her and sends her nerves into buzzing overdrive. Her skin becomes electric. After so long disconnected from this world, half a foot stuck in another, she feels alive.

There is no need to urge them onwards - in a carefully crafted note, she has already given them their orders. She chose well; chose two boys who do so love to obey. And she relishes in her role as ruler. Surrenders to the fate she has predicted, and gifts her body to their flames and shadow. Knows they will return the sentiment with her release. And oh, how they embellish her dreams.

What she could not foresee leaks in through subtle, yet wholly arousing gestures, Lucien’s two fingers sliding up the curve of her spine, the way Azriel’s breath is hot and panting against her thighs. The Fox fucks her with his cock - legendary throughout the land for its fire and passion - and her shadowsinger licks and kisses and delves into her ass with that sweet silent tongue, exploring her insides as if they were yet more secrets to uncover.

Her dreams forwarn of their hesitation, their instincts to be gentle from when they thought her delicate. Yet she knows how to fix this; Grabs Lucien’s hair. Tightens her thighs around Azriel’s warm neck. “Harder,” she grunts, rough and commanding. They pause in uncertainty. “Harder,” she says again, tugging that glossy red hair hard. “Else I’ll get Cassian to do it.”

And that spark of jealousy is enough. Enough to have Lucien fucking her rough and deep into the sheets, his cock rock hard and so fucking hot inside of her. She does not know if it’s his gift or magic or just how turned on she is, but it feels as if flame and lightning itself splits her from the inside.

Never one to be outdone, or threatened with his bastard brother, Azriel sinks his tongue and teeth into her ass, his sharp canines grazing her flesh as his tongue slides deeper. Explores her ridges. Scrapes them, fucks them, until the stimulation is so, so much, so much more than she ever dreamed, and she is psychic, she is the seer, but she did not see this, did not see-

Did not see how violently or soon she’d orgasm, how it would trembling through her muscles once, then twice as Lucien continues, then reaching its crescendo with a third and Azriel, spurred on by the threat of competition, puts that dangerous tongue to perfect use. She is an internal ruin of flame and shadow and stimulation. She is destroyed. Reborn.

Relieved. Finally, relieved.

“Good boys,” she says, patting their hair softly as she exerts a sigh and sinks back into the bedsheets. “If only you could see what pleasures we have to come.”


End file.
